


i move in water, shore to shore

by ShirosRedKnight (SweetFanfics)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, reference to an entire race of aliens dying, the gang's all here, the thing about war is, you can't win all your battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/ShirosRedKnight
Summary: As in any war, there are battles you win and battles you lose. They’ve been lucky that their wins out weight their losses. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t times when they’ve come out on the losing end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this gorgeous fanart on twitter](https://twitter.com/icecake__4866/status/774939281475244033/photo/1) (chanchanchanchanchanchanchan on tumblr :))  
> 
> 
> This short little fic is also sad, sad, sad. I meant for it to be 20% melancholic and 80% tender but it wound up going *totally* the other way around.

As in any war, there are battles you win and battles you lose. They’ve been lucky that their wins out weight their losses. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t times when they’ve come out on the losing end.

 

“You did the best you could,” Coran reassures them, normally jovial voice low and consoling, but it only adds to his heavy heart. No one says a word, not even Allura. Despondence hangs off everyone’s shoulders like a heavy cape, tattered edges sweeping the floor as they quietly walk out of the lounge. Allura looks like she might say something, try to cheer Lance up as he passes by but nothing comes up. 

 

She looks as young as Shiro has ever seen her, lean form drooping further when Coran’s gentle hand comes to rest on her shoulder. There’s an itch at the base of his throat Shiro wants to scratch. It’s aggravated by the sight of Pidge leaning tiredly against Hunk’s side as the pair walk out the room. 

 

Hunk asks if she wants to eat anything and she shakes her head, murmuring, “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat for a week.”

 

There’s a hand clutching his throat, tightening until he can't breathe when Hunk sighs in agreement, “Yeah. Me too.”

 

Shiro drops his gaze in between his spread knees, rubs the heel of his palm against his collarbone, tries to massage away the painful lump growing in his throat. It doesn’t help. It only grows when Allura sighs, “Maybe I shouldn’t have cancelled tomorrow’s training. Perhaps some semblance of normalcy may help u-”

 

“It was a good decision,” Keith reassures her immediately. Keith sounds tired, Shiro notes as he rubs his throat trying to will the choking feeling away and stares at his knees. Maybe some water would help soothe this tightness away?

 

Coran’s usually chipper voice is soft and gentle, “I agree, Princess. We all should take some time to mourn. It’s important to do so.”

 

Allura sighs, "Very well. A day of rest then. You'll inform the others, Coran?"

 

"Of course. I'll see you to your room."

 

Her dress whispers to the floor with every step, a hushed rustle. The door opens with a low whoosh. Even the sound of her low heels clicking against the floor sounds pensive to Shiro.

 

“You boys better get some rest too,” Coran suggests before the door closes behind him. 

 

If his head didn’t feel so heavy, Shiro would nod in agreement. As it is, he keeps his fingers pressed against his jugular, feels his heartbeat, and tells himself its okay. It’s just survivors guilt. He’s been here before. It couldn’t be helped. He did his best to help the Moorab’s. They all did. Sometimes their best just isn't good enough.

 

Keith’s footfalls are as quiet as ever as he moves. Shiro barely picks up the sound of them but it’s the only sound in the large room besides his shaky breathing. He stares at the white, red, black of Keith’s boots and stupidly wonders how Keith’s managed to keep them in such pristine condition after all these months.

 

An open palm extended his way cuts off Shiro’s sight. He stares at it dumbly long enough for Keith to murmur, “Come on, Takashi. Let's go to bed.”

 

Muscle memory takes over. He straightens to his full height but feels six inches tall when Keith takes hold of his hand. Shiro curls his fingers around Keith’s hand, following him like a lost duckling down the quiet castle corridors. The feeling of being lost at sea abates temporarily when Keith squeezes his hand, a glimmer of the North star through the dense clouds hanging overhead.

 

Temporarily being the key word.

 

As soon as Keith lets go of his hand, quietly guiding him down on his bed, Shiro feels a heavy mist sweeping in to numb his muscles. Shiro watches Keith shuck his jacket before crawling into bed. Fitting into the empty space before Shiro, hopelessly tangling their legs together.

 

Keith’s knuckles press against Shiro’s shoulder with the barest amount of pressure, unlike his other hand which comes up to cup his jawline. He doesn’t say anything. Just watches Shiro carefully with great sadness in his eyes. Shiro ducks his eyes, shifting another inch closer before dropping his arm around Keith’s waist. Elbow bending as he presses the flat of his hand in between Keith’s shoulder blades and feels his every breath. Shiro very carefully doesn’t think about anything beyond that. 

 

Inhale. 

 

Exhale.

 

Inhale.

 

Exhale.

 

His eyes, like his limbs, start to succumb to the heaviness of the fog pressing down on him. Shiro thinks about letting his head drop from its present perch, chin on his palm and elbow sunk deep in a pillow, and going to sleep. 

 

And then Keith finally breaks the silence.

 

“I want a cat and a dog.”

 

Blinking hazily, Shiro peers down at Keith, who is staring at Shiro’s throat. “What?” He asks, wondering if he missed something.

 

Keith repeats himself, in a stronger tone, “When we get back to Earth? I want a cat and a dog. I want to go to a shelter and pick one of each. One of the older ones and not like, a kitten or a puppy.”

 

Lips twitching faintly, Shiro asks, “Any other plans?”

 

There’s a faint hitch on Keith’s breathing when he exhales a laugh, “Yeah. A lot of 'em actually.” 

 

Keith’s fingers move up and down his throat, pinkie hooking into the high collar of Shiro’s shirt before sweeping back up to trace his ear. And the whole time, Keith entrusts Shiro with his hopes and dreams. He talks about the house he wants them to inhabit and how each bedroom will have an en-suite bathroom because the Castle has spoiled him for that. Insists their kids will learn self-defense from a young age and that their home will have to be somewhere in the suburbs, with a nice enough backyard for the dog and kids to play comfortably in.

 

The almost smile stays on his lips for most of the small speech. Shiro can almost imagine Keith’s dream house for them. His heart aches at the possibility, and the knowledge that yes, he would like that as well. 

 

An arrow whistles through the fog and sinks into his back, making Shiro stumble forward.

 

 _How can you think of your future when you’re responsible for the death of an entire_ race _of people?_

Shiro grows cold, smile fading into nothing. With a shuddering exhale, he quietly says, “Keith…”

 

Just like that, his partner stops. Dark blue eyes intently, curiously, peering up at him. Shiro wonders what he ever did to be worth of the kind of devotion and trust Keith places in him. (And more importantly, does he _deserve_  that kind of love?)

 

He licks his lips. Tries to gather his thoughts, shaking his head slightly to shake the cobwebs off but it’s no good. Shiro can’t find the right set of words to express that he doesn’t feel like he deserves a future so bright, happy, and care-free when he couldn’t save the Moorab. 

 

Heroes deserve the kind of happy ending Keith’s describing. And Shiro’s got too much blood on his hands anyways to qualify as a hero.

 

Dry, soft lips brush against his thinned mouth. Keith’s words which follow, are a humid puff against the corner of his lips, “We… you did everything you could.”

 

Shiro has never felt so damn morose in his _life_. Or so bitter. The laugh which falls out of his mouth is dark and sharp, dripping with both emotions and disbelief on that of that. But Keith’s hand is firm. 

 

Fingertips pressing insistent into the highest point of Shiro’s jaw before repeating, “It couldn’t be helped. You made all the right calls.”

 

“Then why did they all die?” 

 

He nearly chokes on the question, the guilt crawling up his gullet as rapidly as the tears that prickle the corner of his eyes.

 

Keith’s face is hidden to him, his nose and cheekbone pressing firmly against Shiro’s cheek. There’s a trail of wetness that hits Shiro’s cheek before sliding away. 

 

“Sometimes you can do all the right things and still lose,” Keith answers, voice surprisingly steady.

 

His eyes fill with tears and Shiro struggles not to let them fall. He knows that. He knows it entirely too well. It’s advice he’d given Keith a lifetime ago when he’d been passed over for a mission he was more than capable of heading.

 

Another kiss is pressed to the corner of his mouth, lingering and tasting of salt. Shiro squeezes his eyes shut, giving up to bury his face into the curve of Keith’s shoulder. Holds onto him as he shakes, heart aching oh so terribly. Keith’s arms go around his shoulder, clinging to him and holding him in equal parts. Anchoring and anchored. Together, they float listlessly in the middle of an endlessly dark ocean, lashed by rain and chilly wind. Raising their heads only when the storm passes and the fog starts to move on.

 

With a quiet sniffle, Shiro hoarsely asks, “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

 

Scrubbing a knuckle under his eye, Keith nods. It’s painfully endearing how childishly sweet the small gesture is. Shiro didn’t think he would feel warm again today and yet, there’s a flicker of heat deep in his chest. Fond and loving.

 

He kisses Keith’s neck through his dark hair, murmuring, “Take a shower with me.”

 

Another nod and Keith begins to shift, hiding his tear stained face from Shiro. _Too bad for him_ , Shiro thinks with tender amusement, _I've got other plans_. As soon as they’re on their feet, Shiro takes hold of Keith’s wrist to grab his attention. He smiles faintly at how the touch has Keith’s eyes sweeping up before remembering he didn’t want Shiro to see his red-rimmed eyes or the last remnants of his tears streaking his cheeks.

 

Shiro leans in to press soft kisses on each eyelid, thinks of saying so many things. 

_Thank you. I love you. I want the same future you do. Could we get two dogs and a cat? You’ll be a great dad. I honestly can't wait._  

 

And opts to say none of it.

 

He continues to smile, heart aching, aching, aching so sweetly. Keith rubs the bridge of his nose, sheepish and shy, before saying, “Come on.” Leading Shiro to the adjoined bath.

 

 _I’d go anywhere with you_.

 

The words slip out of him before he can catch them. For the first time that night, Keith looks at him with something other than sorrow or careful consideration. Shiro peers back, unable to find even a whit of embarrassment in him after sharing the sentiment. 

 

Keith’s eyes widen slightly in pleasant but unexpected shock before the tiniest of smiles turn his lips up. “I would too.” he offers in return.

 

A smile, small but true, pulls Shiro’s lips up. Love has him leaning down to kiss Keith’s lips. Hope makes him pray that they’ll return to Earth together and be able to make Keith’s dreams reality.

 

 _Whoever’s listening_ , Shiro pleads as they lie down in bed, hair damp but sweet smelling, wearing their sleeping clothes.  _Please… just let this one wish come true. Just this one_.

 

He prays for their happiness one more time before closing his eyes. Exhales. Buries his nose in Keith’s hair. And falls into the comforting arms of a deep, dreamless sleep.


End file.
